You see, she tells me things, bless her little soul. Things like, "Friday night, I'm going to your sister's for a yoga session, so you'll have to give the kids dinner and put them to bed."
And when she tells me those things, I pay close attention, and I thank her for the heads up ... and then I turn my attention back to whatever else it was I was doing, and the Attention Deficit Disorder portion of my brain highlights the information Wonder Woman just laid on me and hits the "Delete" key.
Which is why, a little after five o'clock today, I was happily heading toward the finish line and thinking about the nice Friday night I'd be having with my wife, who was looking all hot and sassy in the styling new t-shirt she bought, which I thought she was wearing just for me.
At 5:15, she opened my office door, and said:
“Can I get you a beer, honey?”
“Dinner will be ready whenever you’re finished, sweetheart”
“Have I ever told you that you look just like Hugh Jackman?”
“Time for me to go.”
Go? Go where? Wha …? But Friday … and the t-shirt … and the kids … and … and …
So, for the second night in a row, I was flying solo with the kiddos. (Last night was Girls Night Out.)
Fortunately, Friday night is pizza night, and Wonder Woman had already put one in the oven, so I had that going for me. (Zan decided he didn’t want to partake in the pie, and opted instead for a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich … which, lucky for him, is one of the very few dishes I am capable of making.)